Songs
by Damascus ari
Summary: A series of oneshots based on songs I found to relate to characters in the game.
1. Vengeance

Based on: Behind These Hazel Eyes, Kelly Clarkson

* * *

The day is beautiful. The sun is shining high, and there is just enough wind to cool, but not to stir up the sand. The view from the balcony is nothing short of breathtaking, with the sprawling streets of Rabanastre stretching as far as the eye can see.

She stands there, a smile playing on her lips as she surveys the numerous citizens milling about the city. It seems from here the war doesn't exist. That armies aren't marching to defend their honor.

Everything is alright now. He is beside her, and their hands are together. Their love is endless, even if for most their union seems merely a political statement.

They look at each other, cheer dancing in their eyes. She, soon to be queen of this vast land. He, her future king. Their fate is sealed; happiness beyond measure, and a certainty everything will come out for the best.

She wakes with a start. Her breath hitches. A dream, again. Of him. A pang of longing lurches in her. He is not here. He will never be.

Another sleepless night, alone with a a phantom in her mind, a raw wound that cannot heal.

She barred any from inquiry, lest they discover their leader's frail state, but ever does her hand reach for the end of this pain. She resists, by sheer strength of will.

She is determined. She will lead the resistance against Vayne Solidor, and reclaim Rabanastre from Archadian oppression. The people will surely follow, and Dalmasca shall be free once more.

Rasler is ever on her mind. His death is fresh to her every day. Every day she gathers strength from it, even as she crumbles under the grief and rage.

It was supposed to be all right. The perfect marriage, filled with true love, ideal in its image. They were just right for each other; two sides of the same, exquisitely carved coin.

But it is not so. She is here, and he is not. She hates him too, sometimes, for leaving her alone. But he meant not ill by it, and her guilt builds should she think him remiss.

Yet he will never see her cry. The tears fall freely, and he cannot comfort her, cannot be. The only one who could help her with such things is the one who perished, and part of her heart with him.

The part that can heal the tragedy of life.

There were no secrets between them. She believed they were meant to be together, for all time. Oh, how cruel can her enemies be, to take away such wonders on a whim?

For that, they will pay.

Oh, they will pay dearly.

With blood, and she will spill it herself. She will take up her sword, and carve a bloody mark in her enemy.

Dalmasca will not forget. Will not forgive. Archadia's doom is certain, just as her love to Rasler was. She only need find the means, and a terror Ivalice had never known will descend upon them.

For all those who have fallen. For him.

Her eyes craved the Empire's demise.


	2. Flight

Based on: Headlong, Queen

* * *

The wind is rushing past his face, anything in front a blur. He is going much too fast to use sight to steer, instead trusting his instincts to guide him on a collisionless path.

The signals can't reach his brain if he's to react fast enough.

It worked for as long as he remembers, save for that one time he had misconfigured the steering wheel and was sent careening into a brick wall.

The ships chasing him explode in a glory of sparks, those fool enough to follow him meeting a like fate. It is not long before, as always, even the staunchest hunter senses the folly of Balthier's maneuvers.

His first year in the business, and already he ratcheted up a nice price on his head.

It might have to do with the fact his favorite targets are usually quite well off, and thus apt to hire all manners of scum to put an end to him. That's not counting those who's income he's stolen by simple virtue of being better.

It also affords him a decent level of anonymity among the general populace, as nobles are not keen on admitting they have been relieved of several possessions, and rarely do average people know of the best criminals.

He is notorious already, but in those select rings where such things matter.

It might also be because of his work ethic.

He launches himself into one job after another, barely a hair's breadth between them. Any and all free time is spent on rather unsavory practices, but he doesn't care much about morals anymore.

Or at least he convinces himself that's the case. Regardless, the nagging of his conscience seems a rather light burden compared to the things he will not think about.

But in the context of the near certain doom of the last swift turns, it doesn't really matter. He pulls to a breathless stop, heart hammering. He discards the stolen vehicle, and proceeds to sprint to some improvised exit point.

There had been a few close calls, but he always pulls through in a spectacular combination of skill and luck.

It isn't until two years later that he meets a very interesting pirate, when they stumble on each other in another in yet another grand escape (this time better planned).

And, funnily enough, Balthier thinks the almost alien Viera understands him better than most humes.

* * *

 **AN** : Balthier is 17 and at the end 19 here, and is thus rather reckless and immature.


	3. Stage

Based on: The Show Must Go On, Queen

* * *

He is smiling.

He is empty. A shell of a person, inhabited by a crumbling will.

What is the purpose of all this? Is it worth it? Is staining himself red for a better world truly his place here?

He so wishes to merely abandon the cause. But he cannot. The future of all of Ivalice hangs in the balance, and should he hesitate, the vipers will slither out and choke and bite all.

The path he undertook is long and hard, and he is not even entirely sure of the goal.

He must present a united front at all times, never once dropping the perfect act. It consumes him, but there is no other direction for him to go. There is no reprive from this mammoth task, because failure means death.

Death of thousands, millions.

How ironic it is then that many have already died in Archadia's conquest. No doubt Princess Ashelia herself is now plotting his demise, swearing vicious retribution. Ever unknowing, ever predictable.

At least he has one person who would not murder him given the smallest chance. Or two. The Doctor is a valuable ally, and Larsa likely could never imagine to topple his elder.

The rest of Archades might as well be a nest of daggers, all sharpened and poised to strike at the tiniest hint of weakness.

And so he holds the charade, wielding power where he ought have none. Already the Judge Magisters serve him, however reluctantly, sensing a soon to be passing of the reigns.

He takes care to account for every possibility, but there are things outside of his control that stand to ruin any and every plan. Should the princess use the nethecite... it was truly an unfortunate circumstance that the prince died.

Regardless, he needs to move to Rabanastre to search for the fragment, for if the insurgence had not used it yet it might still be recoverable...

And there are other agendas he can further as Lord Consul. Dalmasca is the frontier now, and should Rozarria mount arms it would become the battleground. A battleground Vayne would know far better by the time any strike could arrive.

His thoughts abruptly shift to Cid. The Doctor is, as always, working endlessly on a project or another, barely giving a thought for his own well being. Something they have in common.

Neither can afford not to.

But the search for the shard will require Cid's aid. If the nethecite is still indeed within Rabanastre, as the lack of major attacks on Archadia would suggest, it is likely well hidden and guarded.

On the other hand-

He hears a knock on the door, and a muffled call of "May I come in, brother?". He turns, and, abandoning all semblance of etiquette, calls out in affirmation.

He smiles as the boy walks in, Drace trailing a mere few paces away, staring in blatant suspicion.

He keeps on smiling.

The show must go on.


	4. Forgiveness

Based on: Never Let Me Go, Florence and the Machine

* * *

The sea has a magnificence the air lacks. The soothing sound of waves crashing and the cool, moist breeze has no companion too far up.

It is peaceful. The currents, driving ever running underwater rivers, unseen and unheard, do little to tumble that surface calm.

He barely hears his breath above the sounds of the sea, and that is preferable. It drowns out his thoughts, too, and he can place all his focus on charting the course.

He does not deserve such peace, after all that he has done. But he cannot bring himself to relinquish this one solace, lest he fall into the depths himself.

The memories come unbidden, of an explosion, the center yet safe, but all else obliterated. The sheer terror of searching for survivors, and seeing the remains of a great city crumble from under his hands.

And so Nabudis fell.

But the stauch waves drive even such thoughts away, and soon he is staring calmly into the distance, drifting along with the ship.


End file.
